New Money
by shortie is back
Summary: Welcome to Park Row School in downtown Manhattan. We are extremely elite, only take the richest of the rich. Think you can handle it? (UPDATED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN OVER A YEAR)
1. NM1

**Disclaimer-** Yeah, yeah, yeah, I own no one, Capeesh?

**S/N- **Okay, so I have finally hopped on the Modern Day High School fics bandwagon. Even though it's practically gone, as in all that seems to be left of those are **Welcome to NHS, Outkasts, and ****St. Vincent****'s, which I highly suggest you read. Anyway, there is a **CC** at the bottom if anyone is interested!**

**Special thanks to- Cards** who so wonderfully beta'd this for me! Love you Cards! And also to **Shade, who was the other side of the RP that inspired this!**

**This story brought to you by: Armani!Spot**

**New Money**

_"It's like the more money we come about _

_the more problems we see"_

Mom and me, we're what PRS calls 'new money,' as in, we haven't always been wealthy. I mean, we were never _poor or anything, just not really well off at all since Dad got thrown in prison. At least we weren't until Mom won the lottery- the 51.4 million dollar jackpot. Of course, she splurged immediately. First it was little but important things like unpaid bills and credit card debts, but soon after it'd turned into a new mansion complete with its own swimming pool with a built in hot tub, golf course, sauna, and tennis court. From there, the money became a new Ferrari, a butler, a couple million in clothes, a horse, and- of course- the best private school in the country._

Park Row School was a boarding school in Downtown Manhattan that Mom found out about from one of her new hoity-toity rich friends. I'd never even left New Mexico, much less been to New York, but the next thing I knew she was showing me brochures and raving about the school. Maybe it was the best school in the country; no doubt it was the most expensive. Mom could have easily bought another six cars for less than it cost to send me there for one year. 

I tried to reason with her, tell her that splurging like this was just going to make the money disappear all that much faster, but she wouldn't listen.  To her, PRS was the _perfect place to send her son who was __just becoming accepted right here in Santa Fe. But no, "New York has _culture_" she would say with excitement, "You can see shows and go to museums a meet people from all over the world!"_

Yeah, and I can also get mugged, murdered, and held at gunpoint, sorry to burst your bubble, Mother. 

But I couldn't very well _say_ that to her. I couldn't tell her that she was wasting seventy grand a year for me to go to some stuck up prep school that I would probably hate anyway, she wouldn't listen.

Which is why, on January 23, I found myself sitting outside the huge red brick building in the limo Mom hired while the chauffeur carried my bags to the lobby. The building was intimidating, especially in the light gray mist that hung with the morning. God, I didn't want to go in there. This year was going to be pure hell; I was going to be stuck in a school full of rich jerk-offs and spoiled brats. Look at what I was wearing for Christ sakes! Mom had forced me into a new Prada suit. Prada! If everyone dressed in insanely expensive suits everyday, I was definitely going to run. I sorely missed my faded jeans and T-shirts I wore back in Santa Fe. Hell, I missed _everything_ about Santa Fe. I'd only been in New York for a little over a half hour and already I hated it. 

_Maybe if I just sit here and don't make any noise they'll forget that I'm coming today,_ I thought to myself as a last hope. No such luck. A rather ugly white haired man who looked to me a bit like a goat was walking towards the car. 

"Francis Sullivan?" He asked when he reached me.

I shook my head. "Jack Kelly." I'd legally had my name changed after my old man went to jail.

The man frowned and checked the papers he was carrying. "Says here I only have one new student coming today, and his name is Francis Sullivan. You must be in the wrong place, Mr. Kelly. Where are you going, I'm sure I can be of some assistance?"

I sighed, "No, I'm Francis. I mean, I _was Francis. I'm Jack Kelly now."_

He frowned and looked me over, glancing at his papers every so often. Finally he seemed satisfied. "I am Principal Snyder, Mr. Sullivan. Please come with me."

"It's Ja-" I began, was cut off by Snyder.

"Mr. Sullivan, follow me." He gestured me with a wave of his hand. I climbed out of the limo and followed him, kicking at the pavement with my matching outrageously expensive Prada shoes and scowling.

I wasn't moving fast enough for him, I suppose. He turned around and practically _yelled_: "Sullivan!"

Sighing, I quickened my pace, although it pained me to listen to this asswipe. As much as I was wanted my comfortable clothes, I wanted my comfortable school even more. Kloppman, the principal there, understood me. Although he was hard on me at times, (Saturday detentions, anyone?) he was a cool guy. Not like Snyder, who had a stick (probably made of _pure gold) shoved up his ass. _

Yes, this was going to be an interesting year.

~~~

**Casting Call!-** I'm probably going to need many people for this, so should you like to be in it either tell me in your review or email me personally (ShortLILQT721@aol.com) and I'll send you a profile to fill out. 


	2. NM2

**BlackFire****- Not a Jack fan, I presume? Thanks for reviewing!**

**Mondie****- Yes, I'm shocked. It's more than I've ever gotten! **

**Frenchy****- Thanks for reviewing!**

**StardustDreamer****- Hmm, never heard of that book…  Thanks so much for the review!**

**Crunchy-** YES! He _DOES look like a goat! __No one agrees with me on that! Thanks bunches for reviewing! Love to the Crunchy!_

**Falco**** Conlon- *nods* Know how it is with the profiles, luv. And YES! Update _Burning Eyes… tis one awesome fic! (Eh heh, been reading it, just lazy on the reviews) Loves to Falco!_**

**Studentnumber24601- **No need to be scared of Armani!Spot! He is merely Spot, dressed in Armani! *Armani!Spot straightens suit and glares at B* Thanks for the review, luv!

**Nerikla****- Don't like modern day fics!? You must have not read the great ones! I would plug them here, but am too lazy. Ask me, you will not be disappointed. Thanks much for reviewing! **

**Raven- **Sent you a profile! Thanks for the review!

**Sparker- **Heh, you always get me to smile. Such a wonderful reviewer you are *pats Sparker on the head*

**Omni-** Heh, I want Kloppy as a principal too! Actually, I want Kloppy as my grandpa. He's awesome! (I expect to see an update dance now!) Thanks for reviewing Omni luv!

**SmartassLeprechan****- Thanks for the great review! **

**Angelic One-** *Poke* Where have you been, girly? Haven't talked to you in agesss! Thanks for the review!

**Jaede**** Loriele Conlon- Where am I going with this? Like I'd give it away in the first chapter? XD! Thanks for the review!**

**Dreamer- **Well, the sixth reviewer at least… Thanks for reviewing, hun!

**SpottedOne****- *snicker* JP, you're awesome! Thanks for the review!**

**Artemis-chan- **Thanks for the review! I'll send you a profile uber soon,

**Dannysgurlo2- **Thank you for reviewing, hun! I'll send you a profile when I get the chance.

**Deejay Superstar- **That is SO funny that you mentioned _Breakfast Club,_ cause it was playing in the background while I was writing that! It's where I got the Saturday detention idea from! Thanks for reviewing!

**Sureshot**** Higgins- Sure I'll be in your fic! Just send me a profile! Thanks for asking! And thanks for the review as well!**

**Cards-** Teehee. You are so cute. *bounces with Cards* Loves to you!

**Skittles- ***biiiig grin* Boy do I have an idea for us! Loves to the awesome Skittles! 

**Glitter Punk-** Ah, Shade, my **INSPIRATION!** I LOVE YOU, SWEETIE!

**Big thanks too: **My good friend **Chantal **and **Neiman Marcus Online for helping with the research for this fic. And a even **bigger ** thanks to the wonderful ****Crunch for beta-ing.**

~

**IMPORTANT NOTE TO ANYONE WHO SENT ME PROFILES:**

By sending me your profile, you are giving me rights to your character and how she/he is portrayed in this fic. That gives me the rights to do any tweaking I need to. In some cases, it's small things that I just need to fix so that it fits. In other cases it's much bigger. For instance, if your character **RADIATES 'Mary Sue' she WILL be tweaked, no exceptions. That is, if she doesn't sicken me so much that I actually use her. Also, I know you think you're being cute and creative when you decide things about **MY** school, but it is just annoying. Please don't tell me what your character can and can't get away with, because **I** will decide, not you. Also, just so you know, there is a uniform at this school. Your character will be wearing a skirt whether you like it or not. If anyone has any problems with this, feel free to contact me at ShortLilQT721@aol.com**

Thank you.

~~~

**New Money**

Room 4-16 was decorated entirely in beige and mahogany**-** rich people colors if I'd ever seen them. A big, plush, mahogany throw rug practically covered the polished wood floor, and upon it sat two beige couches facing a 48 inch TV set. Behind the rug, beige curtains covered a large picture window with a rather crappy view of the city. A small kitchenette was set up in the corner of the room, consisting of a mini refrigerator, a microwave, and a small table with three chairs set up around it. It reminded me a lot of a hotel room, actually. Okay, so if worst came to worst, I wouldn't mind hanging out here when I found out how much the rest of the school sucked. 

Next to the kitchenette was a large oak door that I guessed led to where I'd be sleeping. I was right. Two huge four poster beds, with mahogany and beige bedspreads, _of course, _were pushed against opposite walls. One was covered in so much crap that I couldn't even see the bed. The floor next to it was much worse; clothes, CDs, schoolbooks, porno magazines, and countless other things were everywhere, including on my side of the room. Great, so my roommate was a slob. 

I threw my bags down near the doorway and flopped down on the unused bed. I was wrinkling my suit, but I didn't care. I would be spending the next five months in an overpriced, sugar coated hellhole**,** and _I wanted out!_

Somewhere in the midst of my self pity, the door opened**,** and some guy, who I supposed was my roommate, entered. He was short with dark hair, and if his shirt hadn't proclaimed that it was 'Diesel,' I wouldn't have pegged him for being rich.

"You Sullivan?" he asked in a thick New York accent.

I shook my head. "Not anymore.  Call me Jack Kelly."

He nodded, and I could tell he wanted to ask me why, but he didn't. "Anthony Higgins," he held out his hand to me, and I shook it**.  **"But everyone calls me Racetrack. I, eh, have a bit of a gambling problem."

"Well, at least you have the money for it," I said**,** with a touch of bitterness in my voice.

He laughed at that, even though it wasn't supposed to be funny. "Guess so. So, Jack, rumor says you're here from Vegas?" His eyes shone when he mentioned Casino land. He really _did_ have a problem. 

I snorted at that**. **"Not even close. Santa Fe, New Mexico."

He looked deflated, "So you're a cowboy, huh?"

"Not everyone in the west is a cowboy."

"Yeah, but you look like one," I opened my mouth to retort, but he continued before I could say anything. "It's almost dinner time**.  **How bout I introduce you to some of the people here?"

I nodded**. ** Why not? Even though I was bound to hate them all. I got up and started to follow Race out the door, but he stopped me.

"You might want to change.  No one dresses like that here."

Well, _that_ was a relief! The best news I'd heard all day! Happily, I changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt from Structure. It seemed to be an okay outfit for a first impression; didn't make me look dirt poor, but at the same time, said: 'I'm not like you.'

Then, leaving the Prada suit in a crumpled heap on the floor next to my bed, I left the room and let Race lead me to the cafeteria.

~~~

The 'cafeteria' was really more of a four star restaurant. Every table was a booth that sat six, and each booth had candles on it. About thirty waiters went from table to table**,** taking orders and bringing out elaborately arranged food, which was probably more expensive than anything I'd eaten in my life. 

Race and I sat down at one of the open tables**, **and almost immediately, a small girl with brownish-blonde hair wearing a waitress uniform came over to our table and handed us some menus. She was cute, and looked about my age**-** unlike the rest of the help, who seemed to be in their twenties.

"Hey, Scrappy," Race greeted the waitress. Scrappy; somehow that name did not seem to fit her…

"Hey, Race! Who's that?" Scrappy gestured to me with her thumb.

"His name's Cowboy. He's from Santa Fe**.**" 

"Actually, my name is Jack Kelly. Race just thinks that I'm a cowboy just because I came from the west," I introduced myself for real.

"Well, you _would_ make a pretty hot cowboy…" she said with a flirty grin.

"Thanks," I smiled back at her. She _was cute**.** I should really date more girls._

"Scrappy, don't you have tables to wait?" Race butted in. Scrappy nodded and took our orders, and we said goodbye. She scampered away quickly. "Cowboy, I know you're new, both to the school and to money, but that's _not_ the type of girl you want to be seen with. She's the _help_ for Christ sakes!"

"_You _seemed pretty friendly with her!" I retorted.

"It's called being nice so she doesn't spit in my food, Jack."

Okay, yes, he was _definitely_ a rich snob…

"She's a student here, too," Race continued. "We're nice enough to her, but she really isn't one of us**.**  You understand?"

No, I didn't understand, but I nodded anyways, just to change the subject.

"Good. A few guys have gone out with her, and she's friends with some of the girls, but being new, she's not who you want to hang out with. Anyway, I said I'd show you people, didn't I?"

I nodded again, kind of confused by his sudden shift of character. All of a sudden, he'd gone back to being the Race I'd met before.

"Okay, we'll start with the table next to us."  He gestured to the table to our right, where a group of three guys and three girls were sitting**.** "The blond guy there, the one with glasses**-** that's Dutchy.  Well, his name is Ivan, but he looks Dutch, and therefore is called Dutchy. He's going out with the redhead- Bridie, but we call her Carrot, cause of her hair… and also with the guy sitting between them**-** Mark, but his nickname is Specs."

"He's with both of them?" I asked.

"Yeah, but they don't know about each other."

"How is _that_ possible?"

Race shrugged**.** "Not sure, actually**.** All I know is thatSpecs will kill Dutchy, Carrot, and then himself**,** when he finds out."

"Dutchy really must know what he's doing**,** then!"

"Yeah, that girl on the other side of Dutchy will kill him too. She's Hotshot. She's always liked Specs, but well, he's very gay. Instead she looks out for him. She doesn't belong here though, she hates money." Race pointed a disgusted look her way**.** "She shops at _K Mart. Then the guy next to her on the other side is Danny, but we call him Snitch since Ms. Schook caught him stealing from the school treasury."_

"_Why_ would he steal? If he comes here**,** he _obviously_ has money…"

"I don't know, why did Wynonna Rider shoplift? But not everyone needs money to be here. The girl next to him- his girlfriend- she doesn't have any. She's here on a musical scholarship**.**"  He let out a low whistle**.** "Girl's amazing with a flute, let me tell you. It's like fate thatshe plays flute**,** since her name's Lute. We call her Swinger, though, because she loves to swing."

I was confused**.** "Swing like on a playground?"

He looked at me like I was an idiot**.** "No, swing as in _swing dancing_."

"Oh."

"You ever seen _Swing Kids?" I shook my head no**.** "You should, great movie. You know, a guy in it actually looks a lot like you."_

"Oh. So wait, it's okay to date _her, even though she has no money, but not Scrappy?"_

"You seem to be missing the point," Race sighed**.** "Snitch has been here for a while.  He can get away with dating outside his class. Anyway, Lute doesn't _work here. It's different." _

I wanted to ask him exactly _how_ it was different, but I kept my mouth shut. 

"There are a few others here on a scholarship," Race continued. "That over there…" he pointed to a girl with really awesome looking hair, long and blond with red highlights, "…is Dreamer. Take a guess at her nickname. She's here on an academic scholarship, and those two, Snoddy and Jake, are both here for athletics.

"The table next to them- you want to watch out for them**, **especially _him_**.**" Race pointed to a sullen looking blond kid**.** "Spot Conlon is the self-proclaimed King of Brooklyn; his dad practically owns it. Don't cross him if you value your life, especially if you're new money."

"Him?" I asked incredulously, as he'd just stood up. "I see why they call him _Spot_ then." The kid was fucking _tiny_**.** "People are actually afraid of him?"

Race looked at me with a serious face**.** "Looks can be deceiving. The only person he'll listen to is Shade**.**"  He pointed to a pretty girl on Spot's right. "She's kind of in an on-again-off-again relationship with him, but she can control him better than anyone else."****

"Next to Shade, that's Drabs**,** because, well, look at her! She has money but doesn't know how to _spend_ it. She's Shade's lackey, follows her around like a goddamn puppy dog. But then again, Conlon has his own groupie: MancaCampbell, known to some of the girls as 'Mm mm good'.  You know, cause of Campbell's soup? His dad invented the clap on. He's new money just like you, but he is the most spoiled son-of-a-bitch you'll ever meet."

"Wait, which one is he?" I asked, trying to get this straight.

"The Italian kid trying to get Conlon's attention. See him?" He went on at my nod**. ** "On the other side of him**- ** that's Netty, our school's resident lesbian.  Sure, we have others, but she's the only one who's really _known_ for being a dyke.  Rumor says she has a poor girlfriend living in the East Village.**"**

"And over there," he nodded at another table, "that's Teacher and, oh hi**,** guys." He stopped to greet the three who'd just sat down at our table: two girls, both clad in Velour jumpsuits**,** and a curly haired guy in black Armani jeans and a light blue silk shirt. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes, even though it wasn't all that bright in the room.

"Hi Race!" One of the girls said, with a big smile.  She was much shorter than the other two, and wearing a pink jumpsuit. 

"That's Shortie**.**" Race introduced the girl who'd just spoken. "The other girl is Mondie, and he's Mush."

"He's gonna be in a _movie!" Mondie simpered, gripping his arm._

Shortie glared at her and clung to his other arm. "Yeah! His dad's Mike Meyers! He's going to be in the next Austin Powers movie!" she cried with a huge smile. I briefly wondered how much money her parents spent on dental work.

Mush removed his sunglasses**. ** "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

"That's Jack Kelly**.**" Race said.

"Oh, you're the Cowboy. Scrappy's beentelling all of her tables about you."

I wasn't really sure what to say to that, but Race saved me. "Where's your third groupie?" he asked Mush.

"We're not really sure where Skittles is**.**" Mondie said, tilting her head a little.

"We're not complaining, though! More Mush for us!" Shortie grinned again and kissed Mush on the cheek, then shot a triumphant look at Mondie, who just scowled. This school was seriously messed up.

"There she is**.**" Race pointed to the door, where _another girl in a velour jumpsuit was entering._

"Excuse me girls!" she called, sauntering over. "I believe that Sunday is _my _day with Mushy!"

Reluctantly, Shortie and Mondie let go of Mush. He kissed each of them on the lips before relocating with Skittles to an empty table.

Race smirked at me, "Confused?"

I nodded, "Immensely."

"Oh**,** it's not so hard!" Mondie said, "See, we're all best friends and roommates**,** and we all fell for the same guy."

"But who wouldn't? I mean, look at him!" Shortie put in breathlessly.

"So instead of _fighting _over him, we just decided to share him." Mondie continued.

"I get Mondays and Fridays, Mondie gets Tuesdays and Wednesdays, Skittles gets Thursdays and Sundays, and we alternate for Saturdays and social events**.**" Shortie mapped it out.

I blinked, "You _share_ him?"

"Yup!" Mondie nodded.

"And what does _he _think of that?"

"What do you think, man? He loves it**.**" Race smirked.

"Hey Mondie, wanna go dig through Mush's laundry?" Shortie asked.

Mondie's eyes lit up. "Yeah! I could always use another pair of his boxers!"

"Bye Race! Bye Cowboy!" Shortie called to us as they both ran away giggling.

"That was…" I couldn't even find the words.

"Yeah, I know," Race nodded. "You'll get used to them."

Scrappy brought our food out then, and I must say, it was definitely a perk to this place. The food was fucking amazing- not school food in the least. I was so absorbed in my Chicken Marsala that I hadn't even noticed Spot Conlon and Manca were standing in front of our table until Spot cleared his throat. Manca followed suit a few seconds after.

I looked up at them, ready with a snarky comment, but it caught in my throat along with my breath when my eyes landed on the most intense pair of blue eyes I had ever seen in my life. They were cold, yet warm at the same time, if such a thing even makes sense. I felt like they could see right through me, into every emotion I'd ever felt, every secret I ever kept. I felt vulnerable and naked beneath them, and honestly, I couldn't have cared less.

"You're new money." a voice said, sounding as though it was from far off. It took me a minute to realize this statement was directed at me, by the owner of those amazing eyes: Spot Conlon.

"Huh?" I answered eloquently.

"You, you're new money," Manca repeated, practically verbatim.

I blinked and swallowed a few times to wet my suddenly dry mouth. "What?" It seemed that I'd lost all control of my speech. 

"He's Jack Kelly, the Cowboy**.**" Race answered for me.

"He's new money." Spot stared at me and flipped back a stray lock of hair. He had to have been the sexiest person I'd ever seen. I was being obvious, but I couldn't stop staring at him!

"So's you're shadow**.**" Race pointed out. Manca glared at him and punched his fist into his other hand, but Spot just ignored him.

"I don't like new money, Cowboy**.**  You don't belong here."

My vocal cords still didn't seem to work**. ** I just couldn't take my eyes off his. I'd been with guys before, but I hadn't looked at any of them quite this way. It was like everyone else in the room had disappeared and it was only Spot and I, in oblivion that would last forever.

And from that moment on, I had hopelessly fallen for the King of Brooklyn. And I knew how much trouble that could bring.

~~~


	3. NM3

_Dang, it's been a while… I've had this chapter somewhat planned out for ages, but never got around to actually writing it. Thanks to all of you for sticking around! You're wonderful!_

_Fifty-eight reviews… *shakes head* do you know how ecstatic that makes me? (Granted _**Shadey**_ was reviewing extra to make me feel good, but still…)_

_I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Don't forget to leave a review!_

_~Shortie_

No shoutouts for this chapter, I'm afraid. Would still like to thank you all personally, though.

Thanks much to: **Sparkle Kelly Conlon, Glimmer Conlon O'Leary, Mush's Skittles, Studentnumber24601, Kaylee, Lucky, Nerikla, Ali, Spotted One, VinylNoMiko, imaginelet, Seraph, Sparker, AngelicOne, Falco Conlon, klover, Raven, Mondie, Sureshot Higgins, Thumbsucker Snitch, rumor, Dreamer, hilaRyB, Deejay Superstar, Glitter Punk, Cards, The Omnicient Bookseller, Fidget Conlon, **and the wonderful **Crunch.**

**Steph**** rocks my world because we both have oral fixations…I mean…because she beta'd for me! XD**

**New Money**

I hate packing and unpacking, always have, always will. It's such a hassle; I'd be _much happier just living out of my suitcases, but no. PRS would __never allow something so mundane. _

I must say, labor like this shoots my wit to hell.

So anyway, dinner had ended almost two hours ago and Race and I were in our room. I was trying to concentrate on unpacking, while Race was pretending to be doing some last minute homework. 

Why do I say pretending? Well, I could feel him watching me when he thought I wasn't paying attention. When I would turn to catch him on it, he would immediately turn back to his work with a slight blush on his face.

Also, his chem book was upside down.

It got so annoying after a while that I just went over to his bed, crossed my arms, and looked down at him. He pretended not to notice me and feverishly began scribbling down something in his notebook.

"What."

"Huh?" Race looked up.

"You're staring at me," I said, folding a shirt and throwing it in the general vicinity of the closet.

He hesitated, "Are you gay?"

Okay, so I guess I'd been somewhat expecting this, but I hadn't thought he'd be so fucking _blunt _about asking me.

His face reddened considerably as he continued, "I mean- not that it makes a difference or anything, I just thought-"

"I'm bi," I told him. "Is that a problem?" I couldn't keep back the biting sarcasm in my voice.

He gnawed on his lip for a few moments before saying anything.

"Well?" I was fully prepared to put the fucker in his place if he turned out to be a homophobic prick.

He shook his head quickly, "Not a problem… I was just wondering…" I raised an eyebrow at him and he continued, "You _were making it pretty damn obvious."_

"Obvious?"

"With Conlon," he sighed loudly at my forced look of confusion, "Oh, come on, just admit it, Cowboy, you were practically drooling all over Spot's shoes."

I felt my face heating up, "I was _not drooling!"_

The tables having been turned, he let out a condescending laugh, "Yes you were! You should have seen the look Manca was giving you!"

I couldn't think of anything to say to this, and instead, busied myself with shoving my clothes into the closet.

"Oh, lighten up, Jack. I'm just playing with you." 

I refused to answer him.

"Hey, if it's any consolation, I hope he finds his gay side and the two of you get together."

I whipped around, "Finds... his…"

Race nodded sympathetically, "As far as I know, Conlon's straight as an arrow."

It had been a possibility I was fully aware of, even if I hadn't wanted to admit it. Spot Conlon _could _be straight. But it had just seemed so unlikely! I swallowed hard, remembering the way his extraordinary blue eyes had bored into mine only a few hours before, how I felt as if he could see right through me and into my secret desire to have him kissing me, rubbing against me…

I was brought out of my impromptu fantasy by Racetrack's loud laugh. "You look like you could use a cold shower, Jack."

I blushed furiously, "Fuck you." I quickly turned back to the closet so Race couldn't see _quite _how red my face had gotten.

A loud rapping on the front door distracted both of us. 

"What?" Race shouted irritably.

"It's us, c'mon Higgins, open the door!" and though the speaker sounded familiar, I couldn't quite place them.

"It's open, just come in!" He answered.

"We got Smirnoff!" Another voice called out, giggling. "Ow!"

"Shut up, Snitch. You want Weasel to hear you?"

The front door opened and slammed shut and a few seconds later, and five guys I'd met earlier that evening came in, talking loudly. One, I think it was Dutchy, held a full bottle of Smirnoff Ice. 

I grinned, "Smirnoff? I thought all you rich kids drank was expensive wine and shit."

Some kid with an eye patch grabbed the bottle and grinned, "Fuck no. This is the good stuff!" He said, popping the bottle open and taking a huge swig before passing it to Mush. "We haven't met, I'm Kid Blink Ballatt," he held out his hand, which I shook.

"Jack Kelly."

"Yeah, I know. Word travels fast in this place."

"I can see that." The Smirnoff was handed to me. I threw some of it back and passed it to Snitch.

"Do you know everyone else?" Kid Blink offered helpfully.

I nodded, "Race pointed them out at dinner."

I was drowned out by loud laughter, though, from the other side of the room. "Come," Blink beckoned me, "Let's join the fun."

~~~

Two hours, a bottle of Smirnoff, a bottle of Absolut, and a six pack later, we were all pretty damn plastered. Dutchy and Specs had retreated into our closet, and no one had the stomach to check on them.

The rest of us sat in a circle on the floor passing around a bottle of Bacardi Silver, the last of the alcohol. 

"Jacky Boy! I'se almost forgot!" Snitch cried, his eyes widening almost comically.

"Whazzit?" I slurred.

He reached into the bag they'd used to smuggle in the alcohol and took out a black leather cowboy hat with a silver chain resting on the brim.

"S'cause you'se a cowboy," Blink nodded.

I inspected the hat, _Made in __Italy__; a big leather label was sewn on the inside. "Gucci makes cowboy hats?" I asked as skeptically as I could in the state I was in._

"Gucci makes everything, man!" Mush said seriously, drinking as the bottle came to him.

"Well… thanks!" I placed it on my head, "Giddy-up!"

For some reason, we all thought that was hilarious and dissolved into fits of laughter that lasted almost five minutes. Snitch kept repeating 'Giddy-up' and shaking his head, tears streaming down his face, and Racetrack's face was turning a rather alluring shade of scarlet. We all calmed down and Blink took another drink from the emptying bottle. He started giggling again, and alcohol shot out his nose, setting us all off again.

Finally, we were all too wiped out to laugh anymore. A comfortable silence followed, only to be broken by a loud moan from the closet. 

"EW!" Mush cried, burying his face in my pillow.

I burst into giggles again, seeing the suave, arrogant Mush acting like a little boy. Another, higher pitched, moan broke through the room, cutting me off.

"LA LA LA! I can't hear you!" Racetrack sang loudly, shoving his fingers in his ears.

"Are they always like this?" I asked.

"Yeah, 'cept when Carrot's around!" Snitch laughed.

"Be happy they went to the closet this time. Dutchy has an exhibitionist fetish. He gave Specs road head in _my _car!" Blink wrinkled his nose.

"EW!" Mush shouted again, throwing the pillow at Blink.

"Jack's like Dutchy," Race added.

"An exbihitionist?" Snitch asked seriously. Blink snickered at the mispronunciation.

"No, bi!" Race crowed, as if he were a seventh grade girl divulging the best piece of middle school gossip.

"Race!" I squeaked. I was pretty open about my sexuality, but still!

A chorus of ooooh's went through the group and I stuck my tongue out at them.

"You should kiss one of them," Mush said with a whoop.

"Pucker up," I told him, sarcastically.

"Not me! I already have three girls!" Mush yelped.

"I nominate…Snitch," Blink said, clapping him on the back.

"Me!? Why me? I have a girlfriend too!"

Race laughed, "Your girlfriend would be ecstatic and you know it."

I blinked, "Why should I kiss him anyway?"

"Cause you're a bithexual," Mush said with an intentional lisp.

I flipped him the bird and turned to Snitch, who shrugged.

"Just do it," Race whined.

"Yeah!" Blink and Mush chorused.

"Fine!" I said and leaned in. Snitch wasn't a bad kisser, his lips were soft and sweet and he tasted of alcohol. It was over in a couple of seconds, no tongue to speak of.

Snitch looked at me when it was over, his eyes big, but he didn't say anything.

Mush, Blink, and Race, though, had already become bored with this. 

"Let's play Truth or Dare!" Blink's eyes lit up. Everyone agreed excitedly.

Give a group of seventeen year old guys some alcohol and they immediately become preteen females. It's an incredible phenomenon. Insert eye roll here.

"S'Jack's turn. The last dare was his." Race pointed out.

"Okay," I looked around the circle, "Mush. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," he answered.

I thought for a minute, "Okay, I understand most of the nicknames. I'm cowboy cause I'm from the west, Snitch is Snitch because he steals, Racetrack is a gambler, Blink has an eye patch, Specs wears glasses, Dutchy looks Dutch and so forth. Why are you Mush?"

The kid must have turned seven shades of red in the minute that followed while the rest of the guys howled with laughter.

"No reason," Mush muttered.

"Yes there is!" Blink cried.

"If you don't tell, I will!" Race threatened.

"No!" 

"Yes."

"No!"

"Okay, here goes," Race snickered as Mush hid his face in his hands. "When little Nicky Meyers was a little froshie here at PRS he thought he was the shit…"

"I _was _the shit!" Mush broke in.

"Sure you were. Anyway, this was pre Skittles, Mondie, and Shortie. Nick here decides he's going to go where no freshman has gone before and lose his virginity to Sarah Jacobs. She was a senior at the time. Her parents own a percentage of the school, her little brother Dave is in our grade.

Now, Sarah was really hot, which made up for her being incredibly stupid. She was captain of the girls diving team and was a kick ass polo player. Most of the underclass guys wanted her. 

As I'm sure you can see, Mush isn't a bad looking guy, and he wasn't as a freshman either. By some lucky chance, he got Sarah in bed with him and they _would _have fucked, had Nicky not had a little, teensy, tiny problem."

The rest of the guys knew what was coming and were laughing and cheering loudly, while Mush looked as though he wanted to disappear. 

"What?" I asked, trying to get them to shut up.

"He, he…" Race broke down in giggles.

"He couldn't get it up!" Blink shouted.

I began to laugh as hard as the others. Holy shit, who'd have guessed that the arrogant bastard was keeping _this skeleton in his closet!_

Race got himself under control and continued his story, "Word got around that little Nicky here was literally mush in bed, and the rest is history. In fact," he said fondly patting Mush on the back, "Mush was the first one at PRS to get a nickname. He started the tradition."

"That is a fucking good story," I said.

"Isn't it?" Snitch giggled, "Now anytime someone talks to him he's reminded of it."

Mush was glaring at us, "Yeah, just remember, I get more ass than the four of you combined," he said acidly.

A loud knocking on the door shut all of us up. "Shut up in there, all of you! Whoever doesn't belong in there get back to your own rooms _now and I won't tell Snyder!"_

"Weasel," Race explained it to me. "The security guard."

We heard the sound of his footsteps walking away from the room, and the other boys began gathering the bottles together. They said good night and left to stumble as best they could back to their rooms.

Race and I went to bed just after that. After all, there was school tomorrow and we'd both have a hell of a hangover as it was.

_Maybe this place isn't as bad as I thought it was going to be_ was my last thought before drifting into unconsciousness.

Neither of us remembered Dutchy and Specs in the closet until we went to get dressed the next morning.

~~~


	4. NM4

**Disclaimer: **Hang on, let me check. Hm, nope. Still don't own 'em.

**Alex's Note: **Thanks, guys, for being so patient with this story. (Well, at least I _hope _you were patient and didn't just desert me… we'll see how many people read this) I know it took me over a year and I know, I totally suck at updating… but um. Here it is!

Thanks to **Lute**,** Crunch**,** and Steph **for being the wonderful people they are and betaing for me since, believe me, it was a disaster before they worked their magic.

And now, with no further delay, I give you the fourth chapter of:

****

**New Money**

"I'm not going out there."

"Come on, Jack, how bad can it be?"

"Really bad. Really, _really _bad."

"Well it's not like you're the only one or anything. We're all in this together, Jack."

"I mean it, Race. Go on without me because there's _no way _I'm going out there like this."

"Okay Cowboy, I'm going to count to ten and if you're not out here by then I'm breaking the door down and dragging you downstairs by your cheaply gelled hair."

"Hey! My gel isn't cheap!"

"One…"

"I'm not leaving!"

"Two…"

"You can't make me, Race."

"Seven…"

"…What happened to three, four, five and six?"

"Eight, Nine…"

"Asshole," I muttered. I shuddered at my reflection in the mirror one last time before roughly thrusting open the bathroom door, vaguely hoping that it would hit Racetrack. No such luck.

"There, you see, Jack? That wasn't so bad, was it?" He said with a huge, stupid grin on his face.

"Fuck you. I'm wearing a _sweater vest._" I grumbled, "I look like such a tool."

"You do," he agreed, "but so do I, and so will everyone else."

"Y'know, we didn't have uniforms in Santa Fe. We could wear whatever we wanted to."

Race rolled his eyes, "Welcome to private school, Cowboy."

* * *

Spot Conlon didn't look a tool in _his _uniform.

Actually, it was exactly the opposite and completely unfair. The grotesque piece of blue and gray fabric that wasn't enough of a sweater to be called a sweater and not enough of a vest to be called a vest that was dredged up by some hotshot Italian designer and erroneously cost several hundred dollars actually made his eyes appear even bluer and he looked all the more desirable.

I felt myself falling for him all over again.

Fuck.

"Jack? Jack? Hey, Cowboy?" I blinked, suddenly back in reality, as two fingers snapped right in front of my face. "What's up?" Blink, the owner of the snapping fingers, asked, looking a little concerned.

"Sorry," I said, flushing. "I'm just a little tired." I prayed none of them had seen what had really captured my attention.

"Cowboy, you have a little drool right there," Race gestured to his own mouth. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. Stupid fucker.

I glared at him and self consciously swiped at the drool which I quickly found out wasn't really there. I was _so _going to get my asswipe of a roommate later. Mush's three girlfriends exchanged looks and started giggling.

"So Jack," Blink said, trying to get the conversation back on track, "have you gotten your schedule yet?"

"Yeah," I said fishing around in my messenger bag and handing it across the table to him when I found it. Immediately, Blink and the others began pouring over it.

I had woken up earlier to heavy banging on the large, oak door which was quickly worsening the alcohol induced headache that had begun to encompass me. Weasel was on the other side holding a big package- which I later found out held my schedule and a couple of the ugly school uniforms- and a bottle of pain killers that I graciously accepted. I was about to close the door when Weasel cleared his throat and held out his hand indicating he wanted tip.

"Look, I'm sorry," I'd said, "all my money's on my debit card and I haven't had a chance to get to an ATM yet…" Weasel just kind of glared at me, "Okay, fine. Race?" I called to my roommate, "Can you spot me two bits?"

Race had just snorted, "Is that some kind of Midwest lingo?" he asked, earning a glare from me. He pulled out his wallet and handed the security guard a couple dollars, "Here you go, Weasel."

"The name's _Wiesel_Mr. Wiesel to-"

"Yeah, yeah," Race waved his protest off, "You headed over to Sheapshed today?" he asked and Weasel nodded the confirmation, "Well, I got a hot tip on the fourth," he continued in a hushed voice.

"You want me to put you down for it?" Weasel asked.

"Yeah, and put yourself down too."

"It's a sure thing?"

"Uh huh, you won't waste your money."

Weasel looked skeptical, "You're _sure _about this, Higgins?"

"Course I'm sure!" Race said indignantly, "Not like last time."

I watched the whispered exchange with interest, and when Weasel finally left and Race closed the door behind him he turned to me and said, "I, uh, would appreciate it if you didn't let word of this get out. The Warden probably wouldn't like it too much."

And the point of that little anecdote was that, yes, I had my schedule.

For the second time that meal I was brought back to reality by someone- this time it was Flute, or Lute, or whatever Snitch's girlfriend's name was- snapping in my face. "Wow, you're really out of it this morning, aren't you?"

"He's probably just hungover from last night," Mush smirked from behind his dark sunglasses, causing his lackeys to swoon, "They don't make 'em as tough out in Santa Fe as they do here."

"Aren't cowboys _known _for holding their alcohol?" Snitch asked.

"I'm not a cowboy!" I interjected, but nobody listened to me.

"No, cowboys are known for roping cows," Mush answered Snitch's question.

Race snorted, "Oh they're known for more than _that_. Haven't you ever seen a Western? The cowboys in those movies are tough shit!"

"Mush knows _everything _about movies!" Shortie protested, clinging to him.

"Yeah!" Mondie agreed, "His father is _Mike Meyers_, remember?"

"And he's actually going to be _in _a movie which is more than any of _you _can say!" Skittles finished.

I just rolled my eyes, "Can we just get back to my schedule now?"

"Maybe we can if _Racetrack _admits he was wrong," Shortie said. All three girls were scowling at Race who just sneered right back at them.

"You know, just because your boyfriend wears sunglasses inside and acts like a huge prick to everyone that _doesn't_ make him a movie star. It just makes him an asshole with an overblown ego." The three groupies gasped and opened their mouths, probably to retort about how _special _Mush Meyers was, but Race beat them too it. "I don't have to sit here and take this. I'll see you guys in class." And with that, he picked up his backpack and stormed out of the cafeteria.

The rest of us were just left sitting there in shock until Mush eloquently broke the silence, "I have to take a piss," he said, adjusting his sunglasses and taking the same path towards the exit that Race had.

"Poor Mushy," Mondie simpered after he'd left, "he must be _devastated _over the horrible things that stupid prick said about him."

"Yeah," Skittles lamented, "Who does Race think he is anyway? He's just jealous that _he _isn't going to be in a movie!"

"We should go find Mush and comfort him. I have a feeling he _needs _us right now." Shortie said. The other two agreed, and they left without even a goodbye to the rest of us who had no idea what the hell was even going on. At least, _I _had no idea what the hell was going on.

"Okay Jack, you have every class with at least one of us except for first period," Blink said after a pregnant pause, "but I can show you where the Euro room is because I have American History right next door. Lute has second period Health with you, so she can meet you outside Euro and take you the-"

"Wait a minute," I cut in, "What the fuck just happened?"

"What do you mean?" Snitch asked whilst chewing the last of his breakfast, "We were just going over your schedule…"

"No, I mean with them," I gestured to the now empty chairs.

"Oh, _them_," Blink said, "Don't worry about it, you'll get used to it. Okay, so after Health, wait for me outside and I'll bring you to Chem, which is a double period on Mondays, so you'll stay there, but usually Shortie will come get you and-"

"You mean it happens a lot?" I interrupted again.

"Well, yeah," Lute shrugged, "Race is completely jealous of Mush's movie star status and throws a shit fit about it every day. Mush doesn't really care, but then again, he doesn't really care about anything except Armani and Saks, but it doesn't really matter because his three groupies will stand up for him so Mush doesn't even have to bother."

"…oh." There was something seriously wrong with rich people.

"Dude," Snitch said, "That is _totally _wrong."

Lute turned to fix him with a glare of her own, "Are you questioning me, Snitchy?" She said in an _entirely _too-sweet voice.

"No, _Sweetie_, I'm just _telling_ you that you have the facts wrong."

"But, _Snitchykins_, I'm _never_ wrong. You _know _that."

"You are this time. Race is _totally _not jealous, he just sees Mush as the conceited jackass that he is. You can't blame him for _that, _now can you?"

Blink and I exchanged a look and then went back to watching the argument.

"Snitch, I can't believe you're fighting with me over this! You never fight with me!"

"Well, I am now! I'm sick of always acting like you're right even when I know you aren't! I'm sick of it, Lute!"

"Snitch," Lute said, her voice rigid with anger, "Band room. _Now._"

And then they disappeared as well and it was just Blink and I left at the table.

Blink sighed, "And now they're going to make up and defile the band room. You'll get used to _that, _too."

"You people are really fucked up."

"Believe me, I know," he shook his head and laughed, "but don't worry. Soon you'll be as messed up as the rest of us."

"I can hardly wait."

Blink laughed again and looked down at his Rolex, "Okay, the bell's going to ring in about five minutes, so let's finish going over your schedule. Okay, so fifth period Shortie will bring you to Shakespeare and then to lunch…"

Blink was droning on, and even though I knew that I _really _should be listening to this, I couldn't help but notice Spot Conlon standing up and adjusting that horrible sweater vest (that looked really, really good on him) before grabbing his bag and heading towards the exit with Manca following closely behind him.

I hoped he wasn't in any of my classes. I had no idea how I'd concentrate if he was.

"…and last period you have pre-calc," Blink was saying, "and none of us are anywhere near that room, but I know Spot Conlon's in that class. I'll talk to him and get him to meet you outside the Creative Writing room. How does that sound?"

It sounded like I was seriously fucked.


End file.
